


Voice Activated

by CerysKitty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: D/s themes, M/M, Masturbation, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:23:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CerysKitty/pseuds/CerysKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarn has an overactive imagination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voice Activated

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I ever wrote and it's literally only staying up to show my growth as a writer.
> 
> Sometimes I glance over this and just cry tbh.

As he entered his quarters, Tarn locked the door and disengaged his comm line; his crew members had been pushy enough for him to ‘sort himself out for frag’s sake’, that they could certainly bear to be out of contact for the next… few cycles. To be perfectly honest, he’d wanted to leave it longer, let the charge build up a little more before he let himself indulge in his fantasies, but if his surliness was affecting the morale of crew and his duties, then it was fair enough when they’d practically pushed him into his own quarters.

Well there was nothing much for it now.

He moved to his berth and climbed upon it, kneeling in the centre. It was always like this. It had to be like this, it was practically a ritual by now.

Over the vorns, Tarn had worked to collect every audio file he could find of his Lord and Leader, from great speeches to rants from his war room, even a select few files of a more personal nature which were kept guarded in the depths of his processors. Those were only used when Tarn felt he’d done exceptionally well for his Lord.

With such a vast collection of audio files, Tarn had been able to manipulate them, enhance them and, eventually, had found that he could cut and change his Lord’s voice, manipulating it to say anything he could think of.  _Anything_.

It was at that point that self-interfacing finally got a little more interesting.

He dimmed his optics slightly, to better help the illusion he was going to play on himself. In his mind, he brought up the image of Lord Megatron, sprawled enticingly in the chair at his workstation, directly across from his berth. He started piecing together voiceclips in a perfect replica of his Lord.

‘ _Ah, Tarn. You’ve been so dedicated recently. How long has it been this time?_ ’ In his mind his Lord grinned and appraised his body. ‘ _A couple of stellarcycles? More? I’d say such devotion deserves its reward. Lay back, and spread your thighs. I want to see everything.’_

He dropped gracefully back in his berth, pulling his pedes from under him as he arranged himself so that his Lord would be able to see anything he inflicted upon himself.

Tarn’s arousal had been growing for AGES now, stoked with voice clips which he’d memorised, yet couldn’t stop listening to. His Lord’s voice just  _did_  things to him, racked up his charge and sent thrills along his circuits.

It didn’t taken anything at all to bring it to the focus of his mind.

_‘You may touch yourself, but you will not open your panel until I allow it.’_

He didn’t wait.

He realised at the first brush of his claws on his chest that he was practically ready to overload already.  He might have wanted to drag the arousal out longer, but this was still the longest he’d gone between these… sessions.

The charge seemed to thrum from his spark, radiating outwards. He became aware of the empty feeling of his valve, which he realised he had been ignoring for the past stellarcycle. He jolted as his spike tried to release and instead hit the inside of his panel when he overrode the automatic opening.

He teased himself, dipping claw tips into seams, flicking at sensor nodes lightly before continuing the journey from his chest to hips. He ached to release his panel and finally touch himself, the charge in his valve almost painful, but he denied himself the pleasure and forced his hands to continue plucking at wires deep within his hips. Giving in to his urges now would be shameful, and his Lord would surely be disgusted at such undisciplined behaviour.

The charge continued to rise in his circuits until Tarn almost felt he would overload from his increasingly harsher touches, before he even had a chance to open his panel. That definitely wouldn’t do; he was his Lord’s to use, he couldn’t allow himself to overload before Lord Megatron had taken whatever pleasure he need from his frame.

As he held himself at the edge of pleasure-pain, he imagined that his Lord never stopped watching him, appraising him.

‘ _You’ve done well for me, in the field and here, now. These past cycles must have been hard. I think you have suffered quite enough for the time being; bare yourself to me, my most loyal Decepticon._ ’

At the imagined words, Tarn’s panels snapped back, and a relived moan rose from his throat whilst his spike surged outwards.

‘Thank you my Lord.’ He muttered to the empty room, ‘please, how may I serve you?’

His hands began to creep ever closer to his bared array, claw tips ghosting through stray lubricant which had spread itself through his long foreplay. ‘ _Touch yourself._ ’ Lord Megatron’s voice commanded in his mind, ‘ _impale yourself with your fingers. I might deign to touch you myself if you give me a good enough show’_. Tarn whined at the words, forcing his legs to spread out further than was perhaps healthy. At last he brushed his clawtips to the rim of his valves, wanting to shove his fingers in as hard and quick as he could, but knowing this wasn’t about his own pleasure; his Lord wanted to watch, and he’d give him a show.

Tarn allowed his fingers to circle the entrance to his valve, pulling at it occasionally, pretending his Lord was watching his open himself for his personal viewing. His palm brushed towards the base of his spike, rubbing over a sensitive personal embellishment. A minor modification, most mechs who had them engraved glyphs of love and devotion to their bondmates. Tarn had chosen to show his devotion to his Lord with the Decepticon insignia; engraved deeper than most embellishments, it had been painful, but worth it. The deeper engraving also had the benefit of being sensitive to the touch, and pleasuring himself by touching his Leader’s mark never got tiresome.

Slowly, he slipped a digit past the rim, pressing against smaller nodes, the pleasure adding to the burning charge in his circuits. He worked at the first ring of nodes for a klik, spreading lubricant between his fingers and over his array, hips bucking slightly into his own touch. Groaning, he slid in another digit, reaching as far as he could before stretching the valve walls wide for his Lord, lubricant dripping down his aft to make a mess of the berth below.

Tarn soon slid in another digit, and then the other, a pleasurable burning caused by the stretch. He never allowed himself to indulge in these acts too often, preferring to self-interface only when the charge became unbearable. Time to himself was limited, but he also couldn’t deny how much better the final overload was when he’d been charged up for so long.

‘ _Good my pet._ ’ His Lord’s praise swept over him, lighting him up more than any touching could. ‘ _But I’m not quite sure you’re really desperate for me just yet._ ’ Oh but he really was, and only barely hanging onto the slightest amount of willpower to keep from begging. He continued to work his digits in and out of his valve, the pace increasing slightly as his desperation started to take control. A thought flickered through his head, not for the first time, that he wished his fingers were larger so it might burn more, or perhaps longer so that he could hit the nodes deeper within himself.

He was so close, so riled up that he could overload long and hard if he’d just let himself. But no, this was for Lord Megatron,  _always_  for Lord Megatron, and he would never put himself before his Lord’s pleasure, imaginary or otherwise.

A sound not unlike a whimper escaped Tarn when a digit harshly rubbed a particularly sensitive node. Something much closer to a needy whine escaped when it was roughly rubbed again.

‘Please.’ The whispered word was barely audible, even to his sensitive audios.

‘ _I’m afraid you’ll have to speak up pet,_ ’ his Lord’s voice rumbled through him. ‘ _I want you screaming for me remember_ ’. 

Quiet breaths turned into deep moans. ‘Please my Lord, my Master, please…’ He had to slow the pumping of his fingers, afraid he’d topple over the edge before he was allowed. He was less successful in controlling the trembling of his legs.

He continued moaning pleas to his empty quarters, optics long ago switched off to enhance the visual in his mind. He was distantly aware of his spike, aching to be touched though he ignored it, focusing on displaying himself and the stretch of his fingers. In the back of his mind he dimly thought to engage a specific subroutine which instantly caused the sensors in his arms to start numbing, the feeling quickly spreading to his servos.

 _‘That’s enough pet, cease.’_  He instantly stopped, now barely able to feel his hands at all, though still maintaining perfect motor control. ‘ _You have pleased me and I think it’s high time for your reward._ ’

Barely aware of it, Tarn brought up the hand which had been lying across his thigh, and lightly began running it over his chest, paying particular mind to scrape his insignia with his deeded claws. He pulled his other hand slowly from his valve, moving it to tease at the wires exposed by his spread legs.

 _‘Good, you’re so good pet._ ’ The hand drifted from his hip to press at the sensitive engraving. ‘ _So loyal. Only I can make you feel like this. Only I can make you scream and beg so deliciously. And you love it don’t you Tarn?’_

The words made his valve clench and his spark shudder in it’s casing. Claws almost gouged into the seams they were toying with and he rolled his hips up into his ‘Lord’s’ touch. He was really pushing the limits of his willpower this session.

‘Yes! Please my lord, please use me…’ Tarn managed to huff a new babble of words out. ‘Please take me for your own pleasure. I’m yours to do with as you wish! Please!’ He could barely stop himself from screaming when his claws returned to play with the edge of his valve.

‘ _Of course you are._ ’ Tarn swore he could feel the growl of those word reverberate though his body. ‘ _You are mine!’_  He arched his back, finally letting the digits playing at his entrance force their way back into him. He didn’t bother to ease them back in slowly, instead slamming all four digits in as quickly and as hard as he could, imagining it was his Lord’s spike spreading him to his limits. The burn and stretch, especially without the sensory input from his hand, felt blissful, and he cried out with each jarring thrust.

 _‘You are mine Tarn._ ’ A harsh stroke.

 _‘Mine to command_.’ The scrape of his claws against over-sensitive nodes.

‘ _Mine to control_.’ Lubricant splattered the berth.

 _‘Mine to use until I am satisfied that I’ve taken everything you can give_.’ The charge was painful now, the lubricant helping the slide of his digits, but not the ache from the relentless pressure.

His free hand gripped at his throat cables, cutting off coolant and energon to his processor.

‘ _No one else can demand the devotion I seek from you. No one e el-_ ’ He was losing control of the voice program, his processors becoming cloudy as he struggled for coolant. ‘ _No one else will ever have the pleasure of using you like this_.’ He couldn’t hold out any more, the charge and pressure was too much. He had to end it before he fried his circuits.

 _‘Now, Tarn. Overload for me, my most loyal Decepti-i-icon.’_   He overloaded on a final thrust, screaming for his Lord in his mind, though only a gurgle of ‘my Lord..’ escaped his vocal cords.

The sheer amount of pent up charge meant it crackled over his frame, elongating his pleasure as he twitched and shuddered. The servo around his neck had loosened, the rush of energy and coolant only serving to heighten to blissful feeling clouding him.

He lay there for a while until his senses returned to him, arms slack across his chest and hip, and he turned the sensors in his arms back on with little thought. He briefly realised that he was covered in his own transfluid, though he didn’t recall feeling it happen at the time. He was also increasingly aware of the growing puddle of stickiness under his aft and thighs, which was decidedly unpleasant now that it was cooling, and he begrudgingly hefted himself up from his daze to go clean off.

The shooting pain up his valve was an annoyance, but not unexpected with how rough he was going. It didn’t matter, it would heal quick enough, and by the time his arousal again reached the levels where he’d be using his valve again, the pain would be long forgotten.


End file.
